Just Another Day
by chane
Summary: An average person will meet 70,000 people in a lifetime. A nation, even more so. They say there is only one true love in a lifetime, for Roderich Edelstein, there have so far been three. His life is far from over. Revised!
1. A Sun in the Rain

"_A smile confuses an approaching frown." — Unknown  
_"… _But hugs work just as well." — The Author_

The gray of the pavement matched the skies, which, funnily enough, suited the Austrian just fine. A gloomy color matched a gloomy day which matched his gloomy (if not downright horrid) mood. The weather was unpleasant, it could be said that the dark-haired man was sensitive to its tellings, with the stormy skies and low clouds, heavy with pent-up rain effectively matching his pent-up irritation and anger. Roderich fancied himself a gentleman, and gentleman did not snap at others.

Not their orchestra's, even when they gave him an earache. Not their friends (if they could be called that), even when one red-eyed man in particular ate him out of house and home and… somehow, garden. Not even himself to snap out of this stupid, silly little phase of depression and anger and irritation.

A sigh escaped him, harsh and forced, as a vein threatened to pop in his head. If only there were such things as portable piano's, then he could just plop down and play until everything he wanted yet couldn't or wouldn't say would be released and he could be happy.

Even if his expression of happiness wasn't considered so by others (namely, the world).

So, instead, all Roderich Edelstein could hope for was to get home in one piece, hopefully still dry, and then he could release his pent-up frustrations. Turning a wary eye to the heavens, he sped up his walk. The purple umbrella that would've normally accompanied him had been left behind at home, and now he was in danger of becoming victim to the soon-to-come downpour.

It might have worked, too, if he was not caught off guard by a certain American.

"Roddy!" He cooed in a voice far too young and upbeat for the weather. Purple irises shot up to the American, a cold and almost harsh (as well as undeserving glare) meeting blue eyes.

"I told you to stop calling me that," he snapped, voice as harsh as the weather and the soon-to-come rain, he reminded himself. At this moment, the Austrian was wound tightly, ready to snap at any moment, already tired from much wear that day, like an old violin string. In no time at all, he would start having a fit, and he did _not_ want to have one in the middle of a street, regardless of how empty it was.

Alfred F. Jones, however, was not blessed with such sense as to notice this, or perhaps he was just dense enough to ignore it. Either would make perfect sense, really. So instead of doing what even Gilbert might have done (might, for Gilbert, whilst not as dense as the American, was not too bright himself in the Austrian's opinion), back away, he instead took the reluctant man into a tight hug, "That's not a nice way to greet people, Roddy!"

Eyes wide and cheeks slowly gaining an unwanted pink tinge, he shoved away the blonde, "I said," he huffed, dusting away imaginary particles from his clothes, "Not to call me that!" This man… oh, this man… the sorts of things he did made _no_ sense! Well… he was raised by Arthur…

In response, Alfred only grinned, "I know," his voice had a sing-song lilt to it, "But Roderich is such a long name," he pouted, taking on an almost _whiny_ tone, "What if I call you 'Rod'? Or, or, or… um…" he trailed off in thought, trying to think of other ways to butcher his name before Roderich had the good sense to cut him off.

"My name is Roderich. And I'd prefer it if you didn't butcher my name to make a pet name for me for your own convenience, thank you," he hissed, voice laced with venom and irritation, but not nearly as heated as before. The American had an innate talent for working him up from one anger to another, making him forget one, which made him less angry, but in the end, it always ended the same.

With the blonde out in the streets, effectively kicked out of the Austrian's home. With said blonde already in the streets, Roderich wondered what he would have to do now. Shove a hamburger into the American's mouth to shut him up and shove him in some store?

… It would have to do.

But while he devised a plan to rid himself of the American for, hopefully, weeks, Alfred's mind was working on a plan to plant himself firmly besides the Austrian for weeks. (Or however long it would be…)

Chuckling, Alfred nodded, "Fine, fine, _Roderich_," he put a teasing emphasis on his name that made the addressed man glare at him. He found a sort of amusement in the uptight Austrian. It was almost like talking to Arthur, only with dark hair, an unusual piece of hair and a mole, among other differences. "Anyway, what're you doing tonight?" He asked with a curious stare, blue eyes large and questioning.

It was a peculiar question, strange enough to distract the Austrian from his search for a burger stand to consider why in the world the American would care to know what he was going to be doing for the evening. He hadn't even thought they were friends, he'd always considered them unwilling acquaintances, or that was his opinion of the relationship.

"I don't know," he admitted, smooth and easily masking his unease. You only make the mistake of saying "Nothing" to Ivan once in your lifetime, "Probably stay at home, eat dinner, and relax afterward before turning in for the night," he left out the part about playing angry piano solo's as soon as he got to the stool, "Why do you want to know, Alfred?"

The American shrugged his broad shoulders a little, eyes looking toward the ground, a sheepish smile playing on his lips, "Oh, you know, just wanted to know if maybe… you wanted to have dinner or something."

If the possibility of someone's brain breaking from the attempt to comprehend something, Roderich's would've in that moment… "What?" The Austrian couldn't help blurting it out like that, after all, was Alfred _suggesting_… that they… that they… go out on a date? No possible way! He barely knew the man! He hadn't even known they were friends until he hugged him out of nowhere! It was inconceivable, he had never once indicated any sort of _interest_ and had he, he would've been more straightforward in steadfastly denying him! W-what… the world had gone mad.

Wait, no, that was wrong, the world was already mad, everyone he knew proved that. So, in that case, it had become _madder_.

All he got was a grin, dumbfounding him even more, that grin, it was… sheepish? Oh, yes, the world was at its maddest state yet… However, it would be quite obvious as to why he was looking so… shy. His nerves weren't eased by the Austrian's outbreak, certainly, and that was, of course, not his intention to make it easier for him to be asked out. It wasn't even that absurd, the American thought. There were stranger couples! Gilbert dating Norge was bad enough, but when Ludwig and Tino started dating and Francis announced he was dating Berwald, and not to mention everyone knowing that something was going on between Yekaterina and Gupta! So… it wasn't really impossible…

Just strange.

And nowadays, strange was pretty normal.

"I asked if you wanted to go have dinner… you know… with me?" He repeated with a coy smile, eyes glancing up at him in an almost sheepish manner. Boyish, innocent, more like a puppy or child then someone asking for a date…

Roderich stared at him, mouth slightly agape, what could he say to that? He was never good at rejections unless they were to Gilbert or someone else similar, and certainly not in these situations. A-and… he was… serious, wasn't he? Mein Gott, he was serious…

For once, Roderich had to agree with Gilbert, grudgingly, inwardly, so that the annoying man would never know, that he had to grow a backbone. And soon.


	2. Prelude to the Storm

_Isn't it ironic, don't you think? It's the good advice that you just didn't take. — "Ironic" by Alanis Morissette_

Roderich swallowed the uneasy lump in his throat. What should he say? What should he do? He didn't want to insult the American, he liked him well enough, it was just… he didn't know that the American liked him that way… he wasn't prepared for this. Nothing in the world could've prepared him for this! Oh, good lord, why? When had this begun? Why did he…? What was going on! All these thoughts swam through his head and he couldn't find an answer to any of them. It was like a difficult problem, a world crisis, there had to be a solution, something had to be done. But whichever way they turned, there was always sacrifice…

Money.

Lives.

Equipment.

Dignity.

Friends.

Everything else in between.

And in this particular case, the Austrian felt so trapped that even if he found a way out, he probably wouldn't notice it right in front of his face! So, instead of wreaking havoc on his poor, battered mind any longer, he just had to…

"A-All right, I suppose… one date couldn't hurt, I guess…" he muttered, voice uneasy and shaky and maybe just a little bit forced. Purple eyes glanced in every direction except at the blonde in front of him, a blush tinting his pale cheeks. And enough strain in his chest to make it feel as though he had a strange disease that made it far too hard to breathe.

Completely indifferent to all of this, though, and the shyness alleviated by the positive answer, the American grinned brightly and enveloped the Austrian into another of his hugs, letting out a shout of celebration, as though he had won the lottery. Roderich couldn't help but compare it to the blushing Elizaveta, who accepted his offer with excited eyes and pink cheeks or that one occasion with a certain German in wherein there was nothing but awkwardness, albeit some comfort and happiness. In comparison, they were _docile_ reactions.

"Thank you, Roddy, you won't regret it!" The blonde chirped, although already Roderich's worries were beginning to ease slightly… until he found his head tilted upward by his chin and a thumb, a gentle kiss placed on his lips.

Flushing bright red, but too shocked by the action itself to do nothing, the Austrian once again felt that feeling of his senses being plunged into overdrive. When the American had pulled away, grinning, a slight blush tinting his own cheeks, he chirped in that strange young bird-like way, "Well, then, I'll come by and pick you up tonight at seven, how does that sound?"

Stripped of most of his good sense by the insanity of the situation, the brunette just barely summoned enough energy to nod his head weakly, giving the blonde another excuse to offer that bright grin, "Great! See you tonight! I promise I won't be late!" Unlike to World Council Meetings, the brunette thought sarcastically, but before he could say anything more (had he gathered enough mental strength to do so), the blonde was soon running off down the street, waving goodbye and all Roderich could do was stand there, mind wiped blank by the events of that day as a light drizzle began to soak through his clothes.

The walk back was relatively uneventful, even the man being shoved out of a second story window barely caught his attention, which was far from the dreary gray cement he stared at. Instead his eyes were fixated on that which wasn't there: A smile and blonde hair all too bright for this dreary day.

Sighing as he shrugged off his coat, Roderich ungracefully hung it on the coat rack, not bothering to make sure it wouldn't get wrinkled or fall over. Instead, he dragged his weary self over to the couch, letting gravity pull himself down and welcoming the comforting embrace of the upholstery.

When he finally snapped out of his stupor, the rain had already begun falling in sheets outside the window. The Austrian wanted nothing more than to rest a bit and sort out the day's events in his mind, calm himself down and figure it out. Splaying out his hand in front of him, he paused to admire his supposedly-bony fingers. Long. Neat. Elegant. Honed to perfect reflexes on the piano and various other instruments. Roderich was not arrogant and he would never say he was the best-looking man around, but he would say he had lovely fingers.

Odd as it may be for a man to take pride in his hands, he did, and slowly, he brought his hand into a fist so only one long finger remained standing. "One…" he muttered quietly to himself, "Alfred F. Jones asked me out today." Another finger to join his lonely companion was added, "Two… I accepted," A third finger joined the party, "Three… it…" he paused to think about it, finding the right words, "It will only happen once. And nothing more will come of this."

This list he agreed to, nodding at the white limbs that represented each statement. This was what would happen. Once the night was over and all was said and done, he and Alfred would return to whatever they had been prior-to and it would become a part of the past, as so many other events already were.

Yes.

That was perfectly fine with him.

Lifting his body into a sitting position and then until he stood upright and proper, he rolled his shoulders and stretched his fingers, walking over to the piano. His resolve was firm, he would do it, it would have to be carried out. So he sat at the piano and stared, almost blankly at the notes on the sheet. Simple. Easy. Natural.

If only life were the same.

And suddenly, he found himself just as confused, although not quite as mush, and let his head fall against the cool mahogany of the piano lid. Finding only silence, he consoled himself, " One — Alfred F. Jones asked me out today…"

A loud, resounding clad of thunder jolted the Austrian awake at 6:53, giving him barely enough time to catch himself from falling off the stool of the piano. Eyes registering the time on the wall, an internal panic and uproar began in his mind again. How long had I been asleep! He thought almost desperately, breathing becoming uneven. Pause. Stop it, Roderich, he scolded himself internally.

Like a mantra, he began again as he rushed up the stairs, "One — Alfred F. Jones asked me out today…" he muttered, stripping out of his wet, stale clothes from earlier that day and tossing them into the hamper. He made a mental note to wash them immediately and possibly hide them later so as not to remind him of the bizarre day, which he was planning to leave happily behind him.

"Two — I accepted." Fingers long since adapted to not only teasing notes out of instruments, but buttoning clothes with elegant and quick ease, he found himself already coming together with his formal but not too formal black pants and the deep violet button-up he chose. Debating on the black jacket, he finally threw it over his shoulder at the ringing of the doorbell.

Damn! The one day when the Austrian wouldn't have minded him being a little tardy and the blonde just had to arrive on time!

"Three —" he muttered, smoothing away any wrinkles and fixing his hair. Presentable and uptight, not casual nor too alluring, with a firm goal in mind, he placed one of the hands he was so proud of on the doorknob and twisted, "It will be a onetime thing. Nothing will…"

Oh, shit.

Instead of one of those bright smiles he had anticipated, he was greeted with a flush of red roses. Velvet petals glistened slightly with droplets of rain, the stems blank of thorns that might've injured his artisan's hands, beautiful specimen's of the rose family in and of itself. And all the Austrian could register was that they were beautiful. And they were for him. And that they came from one American. And finally, that he was so screwed.

A grinning Alfred did eventually present himself to him as well, "These are for you, I thought you'd like them," he explained with a blush that complimented the roses.

… One… Two… Three… Four… Five… Roderich took a deep breath and something, suddenly clicked almost distastefully in his mind. He recalled a certain event, a green dress and a formal suit and… wasn't this sort of thing for women? His brow twitched slightly at the thought, it was almost the same as when he had first came to take Elizaveta's hand for their first date. Only he'd like to think he looked much more… refined then the American. Although he himself didn't look… well, like he normally did.

Nevertheless, he took the act for what it was — kind and somewhat romantic — and accepted the roses, grasping them with both hands, he brought them to his face, letting the velveteen petals caress his cheek and brush against his nose, inhaling the rich scent. Finally, he smiled, gentle and kind, turning toward the blonde with a blush on his cheeks, "Thank you… er… I'll be right back; I'll just put these in some water…" It took no more than a minute or more to finish the task before he was back at the door, a smiling American awaiting him, leaning in the doorway.

Sticking out his arm, Alfred grinned, "Let's go!"

Allowing himself to a chuckle, he took his arm regardless, wondering if he'd be treated like a woman all the time…

Wait, no, of course he wouldn't. This was a _one time_ thing.

When they arrived at the restaurant, all eyes were on the two. Roderich could feel their stares, the looks burning into the back of his head, the (poorly) whispered questions burning his ears which were slowly starting to glow a certain pink color. Although he did try his best to ignore it all, it was hard not to as slowly they gained volume and intensity. Ignore it, he muttered to himself and heard the American say to him, ignore them all… but it was so, so hard to ignore. "Why are they together?" and "What's going on?" and other questions filled his ears, because they were good questions. Good questions because he couldn't answer them. Oh shit, he could feel his heartbeat increasing…

"Roderich?"

At this moment in time, that was the last voice he wanted to hear. Because no matter what, _that_ voice was always accompanied by… Gilbert. Turning, he identified the man immediately and inwardly, he groaned loudly. Well, fuck his life. Accompanying the red-eyed man was Norge, whom the Austrian was on notably better terms with. Whilst Gilbert looked stunned but oddly pleased as he shook with repressed laughter and probably more taunts then he could hold in, Norge was just staring, something the shorter nation was all too good at, giving curious little glances between Roderich and the blonde next to him.

Sighing in defeat and preparing to snap back, and promptly 'cause possible uproar, Alfred cut him off first, "Hey guys! Here on a date too?" He chirped, bright and happy. Roderich wished he could take it a little more seriously, but who was he kidding? The two nodded in response and Alfred nodded back, all smiles before placing a kiss on Roderich's cheek and singing, "I'll just sit down and stuff, you guys can catch up!"

Smiling to the Austrian, he offered a wink, "Meet me at the table, all right? No ditching."

Oh, yes, his life was screwed and fucked up to the very core. Nodding shyly and almost forcibly if only to get the blonde away, he watched the American leave as he thought about possible ways of explaining to him about subtlety before Gilbert draped an arm over his shoulders, "So… you and the American, huh? What the hell brought that about?" He laughed, red eyes glinting in that _evil_ way.

Embarrassed and confused, the Austrian glared at him, "It's none of your business!" He snapped, shrugging off his arm. The Prussian never varied in his ways, it would seem. Not even being committed to someone could he stop himself from pestering the Austrian.

"Whatever! You two have fun tonight!" He winked and turned on his heel and out the door in smooth, easy strides. Apparently, he was already done with dinner. Part of the Austrian was glad, putting up with Gilbert's taunts the entire night would make it unbearable…

"Aren't you going with him?" He asked the Norwegian who still stood there, staring inquisitively at him.

Nodding, light blonde strands bobbing along, Norge paused, seemingly pondering something before asking a question of his own, "So… why are you two dating?"

The Austrian sighed, he wasn't even able to answer that question for himself. Well, he could… but… admitting as to why would mean admitting he had a particular problem with saying the word 'No' and he definitely didn't want that knowledge to be publicly known. "We're not dating," he stated finally, evening his gaze with the Norwegian, "It's a onetime thing. He asked and I couldn't find a nice way of saying no, so… I accepted. But, after today, it'll all be over and behind us. No harm or lingering after effects." Yes, that was what would happen.

That would _definitely_ happen.

Because he hated to think of what would happen if that didn't.

Norge nodded in response, glancing at the door as a shout floated in through the cracks, "Come on Nor!" Obviously the Prussian was getting impatient, the child… "Just be careful."

"What?" Roderich questioned, casting his semi-friends an odd look. In response, Norge just stared back at him.

"He might be using you," he explained at last, his gaze clearly serious, as he did not make a habit of _not_ appearing serious, "He and Arthur broke up recently, after all and you could be the…" he paused, searching for the right word. Obviously, "after break-up fuck" and similar phrases wouldn't do… "Replacement." He finished, straightening his gaze on the brunette again, "I don't want to see friends getting hurt and fighting." He stated with a shrug.

Nodding, Roderich pondered this, letting the information sink in. He was obviously behind on the gossip. It was unpleasant, but not impossible, very few things were impossible nowadays, "All right, I'll be sure to sort that out…"

How, he had no idea. But it was a response and that was good enough.

Nodding in reply, Norge inclined his head a final time, "Have a good night, Roderich," he spoke softly and then turned and left without another word.

Roderich waved to the door, "Yeah…" he muttered as he watched the wood swing back and forth behind the Norwegian, standing there almost numbly before sighing and turning to go to the table, lead by a helpful waiter. He allowed the walk to let himself sort out more things.

Well, revising came first, he decided, "Three — I am possibly a replacement for Arthur."

Brows furrowing in slight agitation at the thought, he let his footsteps carry more weight with each fall, "Four — I do not accept this. But still it is a onetime thing. Nothing will happen. Nothing will come from it. Nothing at all."

**Nothing. At. All.**


	3. The Sun in My Eyes

"_When I say, 'I love you,' it's not because I want you or because I can't have you. It has nothing to do with me. I love what you are, what you do, how you try. I've seen your kindness and your strength. I've seen the best and the worst of you. And I understand with perfect clarity exactly what you are. You're a hell of a _man_." - Joss Whedon (With tweaking from The Author)_

Roderich took the seat across from Alfred, nodding to the waiter as a dismissal and with nothing going through his mind but what Norge had said, echoing in the depths of his thoughts those horrible thoughts.

Replacement.

Arthur.

_Disposable._

He had every intent on confronting him, none too silently about the ordeal which was currently causing a small amount of pandemonium in his mind. _Had._ Then Alfred shoved the menu in front of him and smiled brightly, and, just like the sun through the rain, it seemed to part any clouds of doubt and push them to the back of the brunette's mind. "So, what do you want?" He asked, gesturing at the menu, the smile never leaving his face.

The Austrian decided that was what he was best at — smiling.

Ironic, since he rarely smiled at all.

In response, Roderich blinked almost stupidly in response, eyes not comprehending the words on the page before he blushed. He probably looked like a fool! And shaking his head, "Oh, I-I don't know, I've never been here before," he answered, violet glancing about. It was an entirely different place then he was used to, which was his home. Being perfectly capable of feeding himself, he hadn't imagined the standards for restaurants ran so… _high._

Yet, somehow, the only thoughts he could conjure up were of financial matters. The amount of money probably being spent! In one place! On one dish! He could be just as well at home, in his kitchen, cooking the food for himself at probably half the cost and… he sighed and gingerly grasped the menu. Was he always this scatterbrained? Or was it merely the fact that being here, in a restaurant, unfamiliar territory, had ignited some sort of defensive mechanism?

Staring at the menu, eyes wandering down the list mechanically, reading each word carefully, he found food names he had never heard of among them and an array of delicacies he had. "I'm surprised," he finally announced and the American looked at him in confusion.

Folding the menu up and placing it in front of him, he folded his hands atop, formal and business-like as though he were here to discuss important military matters. And, really, everything was like war. _Everything_. And everywhere was the battlefield. The battles themselves, however, often disguised themselves as things like this: Dates and whatnot.

"From all I've ever heard from anybody about you," And from my own assumptions, he admitted quietly to himself, "All you eat is nothing but burgers, fries, soda, shakes and junks," that generally give people a short-lived happiness and an eternity beneath dirt, but he doesn't add this on. "That's all I hear. Hamburgers, soda, heroes, and yet," he paused, steadying an almost suspicious stare upon his dinner companion, "You ask _me_ out to dinner to a place like _this_," he paused and let his eyes wander the restaurant for emphasis, "I don't get it. It's completely _contradictory._"

It's true. America is nature and youth and free arrogance. The restaurant itself is the very embodiment of mechanical and years and learned humility.

Just as he is.

Not it is Alfred's turn to be caught off guard before his mouth splits into a grin, an almost obnoxious laugh breaking through the air, "I'm not surprised," he admits between chuckles, "That's exactly the kind of thing everyone assumes. But, really, if I ate like that all the time, I'd get sick of it, wouldn't I? Of course I eat other foods!"

Allowing a reluctant smile to grace his features, the brunette nods, accepting the explanation, "I suppose, but still, your tastes seem so refined. Or at least the restaurant does." Now he glances suspiciously at the menu, it was often that people tried to con others for money. Saying something was this and that when it really wasn't to get the extra dime and the poor fools who had never tasted the true delicacy would never know.

"Don't judge a book by its cover is what we say in America!" The blonde proclaims, still smiling at him, and the Austrian has the sneaking suspicion that he does not just mean the restaurant.

Fine, he'd give it a chance to prove that the depths of a person (and their restaurant of choice) were deeper than he gave them credit for. Nodding, he lifted the menu again and for the moment, he shoved Norge's words out of his thoughts…

—

Roderich found himself laughing at another of the American's antics as he began to shrug on the jacket he'd taken off before dinner was served. There was a certain ease at being with the blonde, an effortless sort of ease. He was funny and careless, a little too excitable and definitely prideful, one might even say arrogant. He was oblivious and sometimes didn't catch on too quickly, but he was also considerate and kind. With his own insights that were greatly appreciated by the Austrian, it felt… almost _right_ to be with him…

Wait! Stop! Train-wreck approaching, control yourself, Edelstein! His mind told him and he coughed slightly to gather his thoughts and composure. Norge's words nagged at the back of his mind, rinding in his ears louder and louder all throughout dinner and he felt the war between the American's jovial joy and the Norwegian's kind advice. There was war being waged in his head and he needed to sort it out. Smiling somberly at Alfred as he helped him with the jacket (he noted this act as being another one would do for a girl, teeth grinding together at the thought) he sighed inwardly…

He _had_ to clear it up with him by the end of the night. If he didn't, he'd always have a small part of himself battling over which side should have won out and he already had too many internal battles.

Roderich Edelstein did not need another battle.

—

The Austrian traced the receding bits of sunlight behind the horizon as the American escorted him home, he found a sort of odd comfort in the mechanical affairs of nature. The sun would always rise in the morning and set in the evening. The wind would blow and the tides would crash, leaves would fall and flowers would bloom. Repetitive in a manner that might bore someone more excitable like the blonde besides him, but to Roderich, he found peace in this.

A reminder that things happened mechanically. People and nations alike were born. They would live their lives out in manners generally the same — alive. And at some point in the future, they would die. Like the sun, they made their debut into the world and when the end was to come, they would take their final bow and leave the world.

Simple, repetitive, tedious but with a certain melancholy and happiness in it because it assured the Austrian day after day that everything would be all right.

And he had many reasons why he needed that sort of comfort.

Watching the glittering stars, and taking a step onto his own doorstep, Roderich knew in that moment he couldn't stall any longer. He had to even things out or else, and he felt sure of it, he would never be able to. Incomplete tasks were a sin.

"Roderi—" the American began, but the Austrian was quick to cut him off.

"Alfred," his tone was firm and steady, and the Alfred looked at him curiously.

"Yes?"

A breath and then: "When I was speaking with Norge at the restaurant, he told me something that I think I must clear up with you immediately. _Now._" He stated, his voice calm in comparison to the mass amount of nervousness he felt inwardly.

"Which is…?" The American questioned, tilting his head slightly to the side, a trait he had that indicated his confusion. Clearly he had no idea what the Austrian was getting at as he made a sad sort of pout and, almost worriedly, questioned, "D-did I do something wrong…?"

"No!" Roderich objected forcibly, shaking his head to clear the thoughts of how innocent the other man looked. "You haven't done anything wrong, it's nothing like that," deep breath, calm yourself, Edelstein, yet he wasn't calm enough to help the outburst, "Norge told me about your and Arthur's little break-up."

Alfred's eyes went wide for a moment before he frowned, "Don't listen to Norway… please…" he murmured, sounding honest and truthful and yet…

The musician took in a shaky breath of cold night air to clear the lump lodged in his throat and went on regardless, "But, Alfred… I can't—" he stopped mid-sentence as the American gripped his hands, eyes aglow, so close he could feel the heat radiating off of him almost invitingly… "A-Alfred…?"

"D-don't listen to him, please…" he murmured, the warm breath brushing against the Austrian's skin in an appealing manner…

Forcing himself to look away from the blue orbs; it was as if breaking a trance, like if he stared at those eyes too long and he could completely lose himself… Wait! What the hell was he thinking? An intake of breath and mentally, he told himself, four — nothing will come from this. Nothing. I will not _allow_ anything to come from this! The silly thoughts out of his mind, he took in another breath of cool night air, clearing his mind, "You're desperate." It is stated like a fact, but he does not meet the others eyes.

"I'm not going to let _this, _whatever this is, go on if it's true." Or if it's not true, because I do not need anyone else, he tells himself. "I am _not_ your rebound or a replacement for Arthur, I refuse to be used in such a manner." He tries to buildup enough anger to ignore the American for days or for the man to avoid _him_ out of fear. Either would work.

Yet, one sigh, and suddenly his tirade is put on hold, "Don't listen to him… please," he murmured and Roderich watched him, his head slightly bowed, eyes on the ground, "After Arthur and I broken up… I was confused and I was trying to look for the right person…" he blushes and smiles shyly at the Austrian and Roderich dimly thinks this feels like an episode of a romance drama.

"A-and then I found you and… I really like you… I promise… I'm not playing around." His last statement is firm, assuring, but the Austrian cannot shrug the nagging feeling. Or rather, he cannot handle the thought of allowing himself to believe in that fleeting happin ess called love.

There are only affairs between nations. Nothing more and nothing less.

"I can't," he pauses, brows coming together, "I _don't_ believe you," but somehow, his resolve is slowly crumbling under a steady blue gaze. "I-I'm sorry," he murmurs at last and turns, hoping to ignore the American for the next decade if that's what it takes to rid those foolish thoughts from his head! Because Roderich knows what it is like to believe, childishly, in love. He is about to leave the American alone, standing there on the front porch when suddenly, like a knife, his words cut through the air,

"I love you."

Body going rigid at the words, Roderich sees bright red lights flashing in front of his eyes that aren't really there. His mind is going into overdrive at the… _confession_.

What… did he just say?

_Warning, warning, warning, abort the situation immediately!_

Mein Gott… what did he just say! _Abort, abort, this is a _dangerous _situation_.

Whipping around he found a blushing American, look at him shyly…

Lieber Gott, he didn't… _Abort immediately! __**Abort!**_

"I love you, Roderich…"

_**Abortion: Failed.**_


	4. Drenched in Rain and Shine

"_Love involves a peculiar, unfathomable combination of understanding and misunderstanding." — Diane Arbus_

They stood there for an hour, or so it felt like to Roderich. They did nothing but stare at each other, or in the brunette's case, at the air besides Alfred's. A blank stare cast into the invisible wind and an almost pleading one sent back at him. Both are wondering, and on Roderich's part, there is a bit of panicking…

Alfred asked me out on a date. I accepted. I am possibly a replacement for Arthur. I have _(attempted)_ to reject him. He told me he loves me… Alfred had just said he _loved_ him. And Roderich knew, as all older nations know, that it wasn't a proclamation to take lightly, and it certainly wasn't something you say after the first date! Obviously the blonde didn't know, didn't understand the _depth_ or the implications of saying such a thing! Did he even understand just how seriously to take it?

Of course not! Roderich reminded himself, his beating heart and racing mind in combination making his body tremble with a feeling as old as time…

Fear.

Because Alfred does not know the complete and utter pain of lost love, or maybe he does, the Austrian figures, from the British man. Or maybe he doesn't, if he's coming to him to heal his wounds! Roderich hadn't went to anyone to heal his wounds.

Perhaps it was his nature or perhaps it was a weakness. Or perhaps he knew that if he had, he would've just got himself in another situation in which he'd wind up injured. But this… was not about him.

This was about Alfred. And his naivety. This was also about him. And his inability to understand.

Because he barely knew the man in front of him! They had just gone on their very first date! How could someone know they loved someone by that pitiful amount of time spent together? Was that even _possible_?

No, it wasn't. And it didn't make sense.

So he stood there, frozen, unable to move or say anything, simply staring at the air besides the blonde in front of him, unable to move, the shock having overheated the defense mechanisms so carefully implanted into every limb of his body. It was… too much all at once.

"E-excuse me… I-I need air…" he murmured, everything was so confusing already, he just wanted to calm a—wait. They were already outside, "Ah! No, no, I mean… I-I…" he breathes a sigh of frustration and gathers himself loosely together, intent on slipping into the house and just holing up in there for the next decade, alone. For a good decade so that he could get over such an embarrassing experience.

However, his plans were quickly derailed by the front door.

Apparently, in his haste to escape, he'd neglected to remember a key step in entering a house: You had to _open_ the front door _first_.

This knowledge did not alleviate the surprise as his forehead collided painfully with the hard wood and groaning, he stumbled backward in an age-old physical attempt at making space between one and an attacker and, uncoordinated and dizzy as he was, his food somehow found the other to step on. Eliciting a soft gasp, he could only process one thing: He is falling. Onto concrete. And he will likely break his cranium and die.

Oh, Gott… No… _Thank you…_

And one part is grateful that such an easy escape was made available to the situation. A concussion (or death)! A fool-proof escape!

Roderich does not register how mad those thoughts were.

Only that the pain he had expected never came. The brunette waits before peeking, then slowly, he parts one of his eyelids and looks at the dark brown wood of his front door, which could mean one thing: He wasn't dead. Heaven's gates couldn't possibly resemble his front porch.

Moaning, a weak hand presses itself against his forehead, still thrumming with pain. _Fuck_, he hisses inwardly, what rotten luck today. First Alfred asks him out… wait… Alfred asked him out. Alfred confessed. Alfred… was there when he fell. And suddenly the brown jacket in his peripheral vision takes on a whole different meaning as he grips onto the arm, yes, definitely an arm, holding him up to assure himself he wasn't imaging the feeling of soft fabric. The warmth of another body cradling him.

"W-what…" loop up his eyes met with Alfred's blue ones and for a moment he thought to shove him away and make another attempt to get in the house, but a throbbing pain in his head told him it was better he didn't chance a second meeting with the door. Sighing and closing his eyes to ease the pain, he murmured softly, "Thank you, Alfred…"

Roderich stiffened as the American pulled him closer, his heart beating banging against his ribcage. He wanted to struggle away but the thought became impossible when… did he just kiss him on the head? Like a… _child_?

Truly, he thought internally, he would learn to either hate or love this man if he kept on treating him the way he was. Wait, no, no, no, no, _no_, **no**. He would _not_ learn to love Alfred F. Jones, the thought itself was impossible! Right? It was impossible, wasn't it?

He was not kidding anyone.

"You're a klutz," The blonde stated at last and Roderich was about to object on behalf of his pride, but the American spoke before he could, "Don't scare me like that… I thought you were going to break your head…"

Roderich felt his grip tighten, pressing his back against the American's chest firmly. Sighing, he could only manage to choke out: "Well, I'm fine, thanks to you," he smiled genuinely, "Now… will you please let me up?" If he just let himself be cuddled in the middle of a street who knows what would happen?

Well, first, he would probably shove Alfred into a gutter. Second, he'd probably kill himself from humiliation.

He felt the movement of nodding against his head and a soft, "All right…" was muttered as he was set upright, turning around he looked up at the American and sighed. There was no escaping it… and clearly Lady Fate was telling him not to avoid this, although he so badly wanted to. He also wanted to keep from repeating the same experience as earlier.

Be brave, Eldestein, he tells himself. Just get it over with. Maybe it won't… ah, shit, just say something and leave!

Take a deep breath to steady his nerves he began, sounding a lot more confident than he was feeling, "I can't say I _love_ you, you can't rush a relationship like that," another deep breath, "But I'm not abject to… trying it out. Being friends, dating… that's fine. All right?"

Yes, it was fine.

So perhaps his plan hadn't worked out, perhaps he had altered it, but it would remain the same, regardless. One — I have just agreed to possibly date Alfred F. Jones. Two — I am an idiot. Three — Still, nothing will come from this. Nothing at all.

It was like he had just made a big announcement to a little kid because Alfred's face lit up with the same type of joy Roderich might have pictured on a kid on Christmas morning… _Feliciano_ on Christmas morning… or some equally young and excitable character.

The blonde hugged him tightly and Roderich affirmed it was one of those hugs that could knock the wind out of you. "All right! Does that mean you're my girlfriend now?" the American proclaimed and it took a while for Roderich's brain to process what he'd just said…

His… girlfriend?

He flushed red, "B-but… I'm not a girl!"

Maybe he should have run away... This was a _bad_ idea… A horrible idea.

Yet, it seemed all right at the moment.


End file.
